Page 34

SARU

M idnight settles over the Bastion with a hush so complete that every echo of distant footsteps seems magnified.

I sit at the desk in my private quarters, a single lantern casting flickering light across the scattered parchments.

Each missive details tensions with the Senate, supply concerns, or the watchful eyes of Thakur’s cronies.

My horns ache from the day’s turbulence, the confrontation in the courtyard swirling in my thoughts.

Hours ago, I fled from Naeva the moment her hand brushed my horn.

My composure fractured so sharply that I hardly recognize myself.

I stand to pace the small chamber, chest armor discarded by the bed.

A swirl of complicated emotions churn inside me: guilt, desire, the sense that we’ve crossed a threshold we can’t return from.

That silent moment with her hand on my horn—an intimate minotaur gesture—sparked a wild rush of longing I can’t deny.

That sigil scorched into her flesh was meant to be a shield, not a doorway.

But day by day, our bond entwines tighter—something far more complex than mere obligation.

A soft knock at the door halts my pacing. My heart jolts. No guard would knock so quietly. A prisoner would rarely dare approach unbidden. I step forward, swallowing tension. “Enter,” I say, voice low.

The door eases open, revealing Naeva in the dim corridor.

She stands with her arms tense at her sides, hair partially undone around her shoulders.

One of my loyal guards lingers behind her, uncertain.

My breath stills at the sight of her, shadowed in lantern glow.

She glances at the guard, then back at me.

“Let her in,” I instruct the guard. My voice sounds more gruff than intended. He nods and steps away, leaving us alone. She slips inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Silence weighs between us, thick with the unspoken tension that’s hounded me since we nearly collided in that courtyard.

The lantern’s faint glow catches the brand on her forearm, a silent reminder of the line we both straddle—forced bond, or something forging deeper.

She swallows, eyes flicking around my room with uneasy curiosity.

At last, she steps closer, voice barely above a whisper. “You ran off earlier.” Her tone carries no accusation, but pain lingers beneath it. “I wanted… to check.”

My chest tightens. “I lost control,” I admit, bracing my hands behind my back. “Touching a minotaur’s horn is… intensely personal. I didn’t expect?—”

She nods, folding her arms. “I know. I didn’t mean to do it. It just… happened.” Her gaze drops to the floor. “I’m sorry if it offended you.”

A pang of regret knots in my gut. “I wasn’t offended. Just overwhelmed.”

She inches forward, each breath trembling.

I can see her bruises are fading, but tension holds her shoulders rigid.

We stand a scant few paces apart, the difference in our heights glaring.

Her hair frames her face in waves that catch the lantern’s glow.

The hush in the room throbs with unsaid words.

She exhales softly. “We can’t keep dancing around this. Something is changing between us.”

I nod, swallowing. “It is.”

She lifts her chin, courage flickering in her eyes. “I won’t pretend I hate you for the brand anymore. I… I can’t ignore everything else you’ve done—the times you saved me, taught me. Protected me. And I?—”

Her voice falters, but I sense the raw emotion brimming.

My own breath hitches, horns tingling with every passing second.

The faint bruise across her jaw reminds me how fragile she is, how mortal, and how fiercely I want to keep her safe.

I step closer, muzzle nearly level with her forehead. She doesn’t back away.

Bathed in the soft glow of lantern light, we face each other, hearts thundering.

She hesitates, then trails her fingers along the raised scar that curves down her arm.

“I keep telling myself it’s a trap,” she whispers, “but it’s also kept me safe.

” A brittle laugh slips out. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel. ”

I reach out, my large hand gently covering her wrist. Her pulse leaps under my palm. “We find our way,” I murmur. “No matter the brand or Thakur’s schemes. We decide what this means.”

She trembles, eyes closing briefly. Then, slowly, she places her free hand against my chest. The warmth of her palm seeps through my tunic, and my horns tingle with an acute awareness of her body. We’ve stood near each other countless times, but never has it felt so laden with unspoken promise.

I dip my head, letting our foreheads nearly touch.

She draws a sharp breath, cheeks burning.

Wordlessly, we linger, each uncertain how to proceed.

The quiet hum of possibility envelops us, an unvoiced invitation.

My heart thuds, a primal longing surging.

I recall every reason to stay distant: the Senate, the brand, my brother’s memory.

But seeing her tremble with a mix of fear and trust unravels my resolve.

She shifts, her lips parting in silent question.

I lean in, letting my muzzle graze her temple.

She doesn’t flinch. My breath stutters, and I sense a trembling in her limbs that matches my own.

Slowly, I trail my hand from her wrist up to her shoulder, pausing to ensure she can withdraw if she wishes.

Instead, she inches closer, pressing her torso against me. I can’t hold back.

My mouth descends to her parted lips, the first contact electric.

She gasps into me, fingers curling into my tunic.

A pulse of heat rushes through my veins, overshadowing logic.

We stand locked in that tentative kiss, neither gentle nor rough, but searching.

An unspoken confession of all we tried to deny.

Her mouth is warm, tasting of longing and a faint saltiness.

My horns throb with each heartbeat, an echo of the primal bond we skirt.

She draws back an inch, breath ragged. Our eyes meet, the unspoken question shining between us: Are we sure?

Her gaze flicks to the door. I step away, turning the lock, sealing us in.

She offers no protest. I return, chest tight with a swirl of emotion that dwarfs fear.

We say nothing, because words can’t capture this quake in my soul.

With careful deliberation, I cup her jaw, brushing aside stray hair.

She leans into the touch, eyelids fluttering.

My muzzle dips again, claiming her lips more boldly.

She exhales a quivering sigh, arms sliding up around my neck.

I sense the brand’s scab brushing my forearm, an echo of the vow we share.

Our kiss deepens, slow but insistent. Each press of our mouths a silent vow.

Time dissolves. I’m aware only of her heartbeat pounding in sync with mine, of the soft, breathy sounds she makes, and the rasp of my own breathing.

We move as though drawn by a tidal force, stumbling toward my bed.

The wooden frame creaks under her weight when we sink onto it, limbs tangling.

My horns brush the edge of the headboard, but I ignore it, too consumed by her closeness.

She tugs my tunic aside, revealing the swirl of scars across my torso.

Her fingertips trace them reverently, no disgust in her eyes, only a quiet awe.

My chest clenches. No one’s ever touched me like this, with acceptance so raw it nearly breaks me.

I mirror her gesture, running a hand along her side, mindful of bruises.

She winces but doesn’t pull away, meeting my gaze with unwavering resolve.

Wordlessly, we undress each other in incremental motions, discarding cloth and tension alike.

The lantern’s glow bathes her skin in golden light.

For a moment, I hesitate, worried about her bruises, but she nods once, giving silent permission.

I draw her gently against me, mouth trailing over her collarbone, inhaling her subtle scent of soap and iron.

She trembles, eyes closing, and I sense an undercurrent of old scars, old humiliations.

My heart tightens. This is no casual lust. I cradle her with infinite care, wanting her to feel that her body isn’t a battlefield anymore.

Each touch I give is a vow that I see her as more than a prisoner, more than a tool.

She responds with a soft moan, arching into me.

Her nails dig lightly into my furred shoulders.

We sink deeper into the blankets, our kisses growing fervent, yet the undercurrent remains gentle.

A haze of need envelops us, driving each motion, but also tempered by mutual reverence.

I explore her flesh, careful of every bruise.

She bites her lower lip, half-lidded eyes shining with trust and a flicker of uncertainty.

I stroke her hair, letting her set the pace.

At some point, words fade entirely. We move in unison, guided by breath and pulse rather than speech.

She clutches at my back, releasing tremulous gasps.

My horns graze the pillow, a reminder of how intimate we are.

Our bodies align, her warmth beckoning me onward.

With measured slowness, I press into her, ensuring she can stop me if she wants.

She exhales a shaky sigh, welcoming me deeper.

A raw wave of sensation surges, new and all-consuming.

I tuck my face into the curve of her neck, breath hitching.

Her fingers slide through my mane, trembling with something neither of us can name.

We find a rhythm—quiet, almost reverent.

Each thrust ignites shared sparks, driving us both higher.

The mark she bears presses lightly against my side once a forced bond, now the heartbeat of something chosen.